


A Sad Song

by DanishPotato



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtuber RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Pianist!Jack, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Violinist!Mark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 03:44:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8430520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanishPotato/pseuds/DanishPotato
Summary: Jack plays the piano at a concert for the first time in years, and it bring backs memories he wants to forget.





	1. The Mournful Pianist

**Author's Note:**

> I had been listening to piano and violin all day, and reading copious amounts of fanfiction when I had the urge to write this. The characters had initially been nameless, but I kept imagining Jack as I was writing so that's what I went with. I'd never considered what Jack and Mark would be like as musicians until this, and I still don't know if it suits them. Oh well. Hope you guys enjoy~

The stage curtains opened up, and from his seat Jack looked out at them all—the audience, his family, the strangers, and friends. It was a short glance though, because he was sitting in front of a piano, and it needed to be played. His fingers grazed the tops of the keys, and he took a deep breath. His heart fluttered with anticipation, but he had done this a hundred times and nerves had never stopped him before.

The first few notes were the happiest. It wouldn't last long. Every piece of music he played was like that. It was a reflection of his soul, the most truthful statement he'd ever told the world, and it was being played to a thousand people. He had secrets, but his music didn't. It was raw, and honest.

The melody told a tale, and while it was joyous at first, it sunk into sadness, a deep sorrow and grief. The music was soft, careful and deliberate. Every note held meaning, every chord a memory, bringing to the surface emotions that Jack hadn't felt since he'd last played on a stage, almost a decade ago. It didn't seem like it had been that long. Tears formed, blurring his vision and the keys became a white and black mess of colour. But he didn't need his eyes, because his hands knew where to go, and they continued on without him. He was too lost in memories, of nights in front of the fireplace, wrapped in sweaters and the arms of another, of beds shared, of hot mugs of coffee and days spent waiting, of nights spent wanting, and the times when no one came home and he was left alone, laying in a bed that was too big for one person. He remembered the times they argued, yelled. Times when he didn't know where to turn because it had been everything and there was nothing else, not to him. That time when he had finally left, because he had come to see that there wasn't place for him in front of that warm fireplace anymore, and he had to go, even if there was nothing waiting for him when he did.

His tears had fallen soon after they appeared, and then more had come, but Jack wasn't even trying to look at his piano anymore. He only noticed that his hands had stopped playing when he heard the applause, and heard the shuffling as people stood. He didn't move from his spot, fingers still resting on the final keys, until the curtain had closed and his mind had fallen silent.


	2. The Song's Promise

An overflow of memories, that he had kept silent for years. Jack didn't say a word to the backstage workers, didn't reply to their commendations. His mind was quiet, he could hardly think. He didn't want to leave the theatre though, maybe because he wasn't sure where to go after that. Home wasn't a home. The streets were cold. So he took the backstage route to the audience, and sat in the last row. The next performer was about to start. He closed his eyes as he listened for the music. It was a violinist, but he didn't remember anything about the other performers so that was all he knew.

When the piece started, it was simple. Everything started like that. But as it progressed, he felt something resonate within him. The melody called out, promising something Jack had given up on a long time ago. It promised hope, and a future full of light. It spoke kindly, but without words, and gently scooped up his heart, a limp, broken thing, and held it in its hands. It couldn't fix what had been done, but it soothed the pain, and Jack couldn't help but let it take control. It spoke words of love, words he had thought his ears had been deafened too, but somehow he heard and accepted them. It seemed familiar, almost, as if he'd heard the song a long time ago but had lost it's feeling over the course of time. As the song ended, it promised him it wasn't going away, that the sound would, but the feeling would remain forever. He believed it. For a moment, he did. And Jack noticed he was crying again, but not with sadness or pain.

The curtains had closed, and then it was over. He realised how short it had been. Those moments had felt like an eternity within themselves, but now it was over and his heart broke again, because the sound was gone and he no longer believed its last promise. Like it had been a dream, the music that soothed him earlier had vanished, and he was left with nothing but an echo, a memory that would soon fade. Jack heard the next piece starting, but couldn't bear to listen to anything more, afraid it would take away what he had left of the violin, even if it was only an echo. He stood up and left the theatre. Outside, the cold bit into him.


	3. The Gentle Stranger

The numbness had returned. It wasn't just in his skin as a result of the cold that surrounded him on all sides, but in his head. How quickly the echo had faded. How quickly hope had once again regressed to emptiness. Once, Jack would have struggled against it, fought the overwhelming void. But he didn't have the energy anymore. Not even the energy to move from where he was, sitting on the ground, leaning against a low stone wall in a park not thirty metres from the theatre. His eyes were on the space between his feet, and his mind was hollow.

Then, a voice broke through the silence. "You were the pianist, right? The one who cried? I saw you play. It was beautiful."

Jack looked up to see a man smiling at him. He didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say. So the man spoke for him. "I've never heard a more sad piece. No wonder you were crying." The man paused. "You were crying after, too. In the audience. I saw you."

Jack didn't understand why this man was speaking to him, why he was saying these things. His tongue was heavy, and stuck in his mouth. It was too much effort to talk. He stayed silent.

"I played the song. The one after you. On the violin."

A thought: _you?_ "You?" His mouth echoed.

"Oh, you talk." The man laughed a little, and Jack wondered why it was funny. "Yeah, it was me."

Jack had tears rolling down his cheeks again, he wasn't sure why but he felt grateful to this man, for giving him a shred of hope again, for making him feel something again.

"Whoa buddy, calm down. I'm sorry for making you cry. Are you okay?" The man said hastily, as if he felt guilty.

He wanted to tell the man he was thankful to him, to not worry about him, but instead all that came out was a quiet 'no'.

"That's okay, take it easy. Hey but aren't you cold? Jesus, you're not even wearing a proper jumper." The man started to take off his own jacket, and Jack wanted to protest, but his mouth wasn't working, so he let the man wrap the jacket around him, and felt the warmth from it. The tears stopped falling and dried on his cheeks.

He tried to speak again. "W… why…" He couldn't get anything else out, but the man understood, and shrugged.

"Because you looked lonely. Because I saw you amongst thousands of people in a crowd, all the way in the back row. I saw the saddest musician, crying with joy at my song. They were beautiful tears."

Jack didn't understand how tears could be beautiful, or how could he have noticed Jack crying from so far away. He didn't voice this aloud, however the man seemed to understand anyway.

"You were so happy… no, that's not right. It was more peaceful than that. More… innocent." The man shook his head, like he couldn't describe it. "I didn't think my music could make people feel that way. I'm glad." A smile settled on the man's face, unlike anything Jack had seen before. A feeling started to smoulder within him. He couldn't identify it, except to call it _warmth_.

 _Thank you,_ he wanted to say. But he couldn't bring himself to. He didn't want to talk any more.

"Have you got a place to stay?" He asked, and Jack wondered if he really looked homeless. Maybe he was. He nodded anyway.

"Good, is it close?" Jack nodded again. "Awesome, I'll walk you home then." He was a bit surprised at the offer, but had no energy to contest or accept it, so he let the man fall into place beside him, once Jack had gotten up. The man smiled, though he stayed silent through the trip, despite that it was over half an hour of walking.

Jack stopped at his apartment building, wondering if the man would leave there, but no words were said, so Jack just pressed the electronic key to the box on the doorframe, and opened the door when it clicked. He held the door open so the man could enter, which he did. Jack led the way up the stairs, to the third floor, and the 33rd apartment. When Jack unlocked his apartment, the man finally spoke.

"So this is it," he said. Jack had no intentions of inviting him in, but he felt like the man wouldn't have accepted the offer anyway. "I was thinking that if you're ever performing in a concert again, you should tell me. I'll, uh, give you my number." The man quickly pulled out a pen from his pocket, but Jack noticed there was nothing to write on, so he stuck out and offered his hand.

"Oh, can I write on your skin?" The man asked, and Jack nodded. When he had finished, Jack pulled his hand back. He noticed next to the number the man had written 'Mark'. That must have been his name.

The man looked at his watch briefly. "Well, I have to go now."

He was about to leave when Jack managed to speak. "T… thanks… I'm Jack." He stuttered, and the man beamed in response.

"Thank you! I'm glad I met you. I hope we meet again soon, Jack." The man turned to go. As he walked away, Jack tasted the name on his lips quietly. 

"Mark."


End file.
